


Strawberries, Suffocation, and Sex

by ColorfulStabwound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Allergies, Anaphylaxis, Anaphylaxis sex play, Asphyxiation Kink, Blow Jobs, Cyanotic lips, Dancing, Draco Malfoy does not give a single fuck, Draco tastes like money, Epi-pens save lives, James Sirius Potter isn't THAT much of an asshole, M/M, Not Strawberries, Now James and Teddy have something in common, Sex, Strawberries, Strawberries will kill you Draco, Strawberry blowjobs, Theodore Nott thinks you'd make a pretty corpse, Wink wink nudge nudge, allergic reactions, duh - Freeform, mild crack, sss, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't ask...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberries, Suffocation, and Sex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unkissed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/gifts).



> You would not believe me if I told you the story of how this fucking plot was born, so just pretend I said something unbelievably witty here and that you are terribly amused. 
> 
> This is what it is. Theo gets off on those pretty, pretty cyanotic lips, Draco gets off on cheating death, and James just gets off. This means nothing, carry on.
> 
> Endless worship going out to the devil on my shoulder for talking this plot into creation with me. It was a fucking riot and now we will always have this as a reminder!

_I always knew I would die with my dick in my hand…_ That is the final, singular thought at the forefront of your mind as you lie supine across the middle of your bed, head dangling over the side as you try your hardest to focus on something, anything at all.

 

Your pupils are dilated out to pure blackness, eyes bulging uncomfortably in their aching sockets. Your throat feels like you’ve been giving spectacular blowjobs to blocks of sandpaper for months and you gasp for air that your lungs will never be able to obtain. Oxygen is a funny thing, you think, and although you are certain that you are on the verge of death, you find yourself trying to laugh at the irony of this entire moment.

 

Theodore is watching you hungrily from a perched position nearby, ready to spring into action at precisely the right moment. You cannot see him or even make out his shape, but you can _feel_ him breathing life into you, even as you slowly slip away.

 

Fingers twist in your hair and it feels like pinpricks over your scalp that you find vaguely pleasurable. You gag uncontrollably around the massive intrusion that forces itself repeatedly into your mouth and down your throat. The bittersweet tang of pulped fruit stings and burns your raw vocal chords and you start to choke and you see stars. _Just a little bit more_ , a disembodied voice whispers, and you have no idea who it belongs to.

 

The spasms come now, bringing with them the blissful promises of sweet death. Your vision dims and your eyes roll so far back into your head that only the dirty whites remain. _This is it_ you think, just before the black sleep claims you and you think that you might welcome it with open arms if only you were still in control of your faculties.

 

The blackness comes after that, swooping in like a death-clad lover and stealing you away to the darkest parts of hell you know you would have secured, if only you believed. You do not see Theodore drop to his knees at the edge of the bed and you don’t feel the sharp, sweet pain when he brings his fist down hard and stabs you in the thigh.

 

You feel nothing, and you are free…

 

**6 hours previous**

 

“Give me one good reason?” You shout from your chair in the sitting room, your voice carrying down the hall towards the bedroom. You are sulking, you know it as well as Theodore does, and you silently vow to yourself that no amount of persuasion on his part will make you change your mind—You’re completely lying to yourself, by the way.

 

You stare contemplatively into the roaring fire in the grate, a cut-crystal tumbler of Irish whiskey swirling lazily in one hand. The cat in your lap stretches and purrs contentedly and you scratch her behind her ears absently. You’re tired and perhaps feeling a little bit old, you really just want to sit and brood.

  
Theodore steps into the room wearing a pair of black leather trousers that are so fucking tight it makes your throat go dry when you glance over to him. He doesn’t approach you and he doesn’t say a word, he just stands there, leaning against the doorframe, staring at you with that cerulean gaze that has _always_ been your undoing.

 

Your eyes move over him appreciatively, taking him all in as it were, a faint smirk quirking the corners of your mouth. He’s not wearing a shirt but he is wearing one of your Dior neckties, which you understand to mean _trouble_. “Where’d you dig those up?” You ask, with a solitary arched brow, slate gaze lingering on the prominent bulge that seemed to be flawlessly accentuated by the unforgiving material.

 

“We used to have so much fun together,” He says instead, his head dropping to the side to rest against varnished wood.

 

Your eyes narrow slightly because you don’t have to wonder what he’s up to, you already know. “We still have fun.” You reply casually as your hand strokes the sleeping feline in your lap.

 

Theodore watches you for a long moment, his gaze moving down to the cat in your lap briefly, before returning to meet yours. “But,” He starts, his fingers reaching up to encircle the smooth silk of your tie around his neck. “Not like we used to.” His words are drawn out methodically, which earns him another brow raise.

 

You want to point out that neither one of you were exactly the virile young things of your youths, but you don’t because you know he’s right. There was a time when the two of you had traversed the world in a never-ending haze of sex, drugs, and debauchery. You were two immortal Adonis’ who took each day as it came and used up each destination like the filthy whores that you were. But times change and people grow up and despite all of your running, time had managed to catch you both.

 

A soft sigh escapes you and your mouth curves into a smirk so sharp it could cut glass. “What are we going to do about it?” You ask, and Theodore does not miss the way your steely pupils dilate at the mere thought of misbehaving.

 

“I have a few ideas,” He replies casually, and then he is gone, retracing his steps back to the bedroom. You stare after him for only a moment before you gently remove the cat and stand up. “Sorry Princess, Daddy has shit to do.” You say with a smile as you deposit the cat in the chair and turn to leave, quickly striding down the hall after that husband of yours.

 

∞

 

It’s been a while since you’ve been in a place like this with a gorgeous man on your arm. The flash of a filtered amber strobe light casts the place in an ethereal glow that reminds you of another life. Smoke hangs in the air like a heavy death-cloud above a dance floor, littered with the swaying masses of sweaty bodies that are all begging for a piece of hell. The music pumping through massive speakers spaced around the entire place fill up every inch and seep inside your veins as you take to the stairs that will lead you down and throw you headfirst into the fray. Theodore’s hand on your arm is like a vice grip and your lips twitch with a smirk. Of course he would choose dancing, _just like old times_.

 

Ground level reaches up to consume you and pull you in the moment you step off the landing and your eyes survey the scene laid out before you. Theodore presses his fingers into the small of your back and urges you into the crowd of moving bodies and you oblige him because it is all that you know. “Go, I’ll be back.” He says in your ear before disappearing into the masses. You aren’t even close to drunk enough for this shit but you have never been one to back down from a challenge that has been so obviously thrown down at your feet.

 

Theodore wants to play, you can play.

 

You know he is watching you from some shadowy corner of the club, unseen, because that is what _he_ knows. It’s been ages since you’ve shed your pretenses about dancing because that is what life with Theodore Nott has taught you, among other things. You insert yourself into a sea of slick bodies and close your eyes, allowing the seductive tone of the music rule your actions. Disembodied hands slide over your skin and leave behind a heat that quickens your pulse and you take it all because maybe you have something to prove, although, don’t you always?

 

You had been right to assume that Theodore was watching, he is _always_ watching. He leans against the bar with a drink in his hand, predatory gaze fixed on you alone. Theodore knows all to well that this is his biggest weakness, and he has never once thought better of it. He has always known how beautiful you are and it is no secret that he gets off on allowing others to touch you just a little too much. You belong to him, he has known it since he stole your virginity in Morocco and perhaps even before that too, but it doesn’t stop him from sending you out on an extended leash just to see what happens. Yours has never been a conventional relationship and Theodore is confident in the strength of the love that binds you to him mind, body, and soul.

 

Theodore’s gaze slides away from you just long enough to eye a group of fit young blokes standing around a high table at the far end of the room, pounding pints. His mouth curves into a smirk because this excursion had not been a random exercise to beat away the weight of getting older. His gaze is on a particular someone standing at that table, surrounded by his _team_ after another stunning _win_. Theodore may have Slytherin blood running in his veins, but he is as quick a study as any Ravenclaw and he pays attention. Years of watching and listening have honed his observational skills to a razor sharp point and he wonders how long it will take you to realize that this was all part of a calculated plan. His eyes move briefly back to the dance floor and quickly pick you out of the crowd and he bites down on his bottom lip because you are so fucking beautiful in any element he throws you in and he loves it. Theodore’s attention turns back to the table of blokes and he sips slowly at his drink as he watches them, fascinated. Few in this muggle establishment would recognize Harry Potter’s first born as he tossed back a pint and slammed the empty glass on the table amidst the cheers and raucous claps of his teammates. Of course Theodore had known he was going to be here, it wasn’t that difficult to work it out for someone who spends his life watching and listening.

 

James Sirius Potter is a fucking star. This is by far the most appropriate phrase to attach to the boy who everyone wanted to be and wanted to fuck. He has lived his life on the outside of rules and regulations because his ego assures him that he is above it all. His _media darling_ status has pegged him as a _notorious bad boy_ and he has never been one to disappoint a reputation. He takes what he wants from this life and the world as a whole because that is the least that they can do for him. Some people might think it would be difficult, living in the shadows of famous parents, but not James. He has always known what he wanted and he simply takes it because that is his way. It doesn’t take him long to spot you on the floor, he would recognize that shining head of flaxen hair anywhere, anytime. You know for a fact that your image has been wank fodder for James for years because he told you as much the last time he saw you. You remember that night well, but not as well as he does, although one does not often forget when their propositions are so icily shut down. It was less than half a year ago in some shabby pub in Surrey. James had been there for the same reason you had been there, _obligation._ Showing up to hometown gigs for a local favorite band that just happened to be fronted by the object of your son’s affections wasn’t something that ever really excited you, but you did it because you love your son. You suppose James was present for the same reasons, although he never really struck you as someone who had two fucks to rub together.

  
Theodore watches the way that James licks his lips when he stares at you and he smirks around the straw in his mouth. He also remembers that night back in Surrey and the way that James had looked up at you with lust and desire in his eyes. Theodore had all but begged you to teach the little Potter spawn a lesson and you had firmly declined, much to Theodore’s disappointment. He clearly recalls the way James had leaned against your arm at the bar and the look on his face when you walked away. In his eyes, James was the epitome of a _free pass fuck_ and he was determined to have you agree, one way or another.

 

When James breaks away from his teammates and snakes his way through the crowd Theodore holds his breath, eyes wide with anticipation. This was not about testing the strength of your bond or the power of your will; it was Theodore exercising his power. And besides, he really liked to fucking watch you with other men. You are his most coveted treasure, his shining pearl and his dog on a leash. This has never been about you because Theodore is selfish and he refuses to allow the depressing bonds of age catch either one of you. Of course you are no stranger to this information, you knew exactly what you were signing up for when you took Theodore as yours, and you love him so completely that even his ugly parts are painfully beautiful to you. And you don’t entirely mind these games either.

 

James presses up against you from behind and smoothes his hands around your waist, where they come to rest on your hips. Your eyes are still closed when you drop your head back against his shoulder and reach up to link your fingers together at the back of his neck. You know Theodore is watching you and you always make it a worthwhile show, that is just who you both are. Lips press wetly against the base of your throat and your lashes flutter and you feel infinitely warm. Your bodies move together seamlessly to the beat of the music that swells all around you, thumping the blood in your veins forcibly. “I’ve got you now,” A voice murmurs in your ear, and your eyes snap open because you know that voice.

 

When you twist around in the arms that still caged you, you are face to face with James Potter, who is wearing a most satisfied smirk. You want to ask him what the fuck he is doing here but you think that you already know and so you smirk and emit a chuckle through closed lips that he mistakes for approval. His mouth is moving, forming words that you don’t hear over the thump of the music. Your eyes scan the shadowy edges of the dance floor and you wonder where that little deviant is, but then James is pressing himself up against your front and demanding your attention.  “I said, you taste like strawberries,” he says again, and you just stare stupidly at him because you cannot believe this fucking kid.

 

“I doubt that,” You reply, and before you can say anything else, Theodore is pressing himself up against you from behind. “Miss me?” He purrs in against your ear, and you can only smirk and nuzzle into his teasing brush of lips, although your eyes remain on James.

 

James seems to regard Theodore for a split second before leaning close enough to be heard. “You two are hot as fuck!” He says, and the way his lips curves into a smug grin makes you wonder what they would look like wrapped around your cock.

 

Theodore’s hands smooth over your front and hold you close, your bodies moving seamlessly together to the down beat. James, not to be outdone, forces himself against your front, effectively sandwiching your body between them—You can think of worse ways to spend your time…

 

Several drinks and lots of suggestive groping later and you find yourself unceremoniously shoved into the back of a cab between two people with a singular goal. You gaze at Theodore sidelong and the mischief dancing in his eyes speaks volumes in the absence of syllables. You feel like you are burning from the inside out because you know that look and you know what is coming. James shifts on your other side and leans over to curl his fingers around the nape of Theodore’s neck. You can only watch in abstract fascination as their lips meet at your middle, and the brief flashes of tongue between the seams of their mouths catches your breath. _Maybe there really **is** something to be said about voyeurism _ you think, and your fingers curl in on your own palms firm enough to leave indents.

 

Theodore hadn’t exactly planned on becoming an active part of this experiment but fuck all if the kid wasn’t making it hard to resist. Harry Potter’s eldest son kissed like he had demons running through his veins instead of savior blood and Theodore shuddered in his leather pants at the mere _idea_ of what he was _really_ capable of. “Not strawberries,” James said when they broke apart, and you snorted out an amused laugh at Theodore’s confusion.

 

“He thinks I taste like strawberries,” You say plainly, tipping your head in James’ direction. “I always imagined I tasted like money.” You added with a sniff and a shrug, clearly unbothered.

 

Theodore’s gaze fixes on you for a moment and his mouth twists like he is considering something internally. “Huh,” He said finally, a grin curving his mouth upwards. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a strawberry I don’t remember what they taste like.”

 

James’ gaze moved between the two men who seemed to find the dark haired one’s strawberry deficiency highly amusing. Clearly he was missing something, which was not acceptable. “What’s so funny?” He asked, peering at Theodore from beneath a fan of lashes, his fingertips tracing up one of your thighs.

 

Theodore shook his head and cleared his throat, glancing at you for silent approval before speaking. “Allergic,” He whispered as he pointed at you and nodded his head knowingly at James.

 

“I’m not _that_ allergic,” You snort.

 

“You filthy liar.” Theodore cut in, discreetly pinching your arm and making you wince.

 

James arched a brow at the two of you and rolled his eyes, thoroughly disgusted by your display of obvious affection. “This is all extremely fascinating and everything, but can it wait until _after_ we fuck?”

 

Your lips twitched with an amused smirk and Theodore chuckled fondly and the cab driver’s eyes widened in the rearview mirror, although he kept his comments to himself.

 

And _that_ is how Draco Malfoy found himself naked and face up in the center of his bed in a total state of anaphylaxis.

 

 

 

You have no idea where James got the basket of whole strawberries and you don’t think to ask because you are too busy watching him bite into one and rub the bitten stem along the length of the dick in his hand. “Care to test your theory?” He asks, as he looks up at you, slowly stroking himself with sticky, strawberry coated fingers.

 

Theodore’s hands are on the front of your shirt, twisting the expensive fabric in his fists as he peers into your molten gaze and grins darkly. You think you should kiss him but he tears open the front of your shirt in an act of defiance that pulls a gasp from between your parted lips. You glance down as small, pearlescent buttons roll across the floor, never to be seen again and when your gaze returns to him, he is still smiling. He shrugs a shoulder as if to say _you know how I feel about your clothes_ and although you are still in shock over the devastating blow to your closet, you mouth still curves into a smirk. He kisses you after that and it is not the gentle touch of love that he imparts, but the desperate force that he desires.

 

James’ hands smooth over your back and tug at the collar of your ruined shirt and easily divest you of it. You have no idea what the fuck you are doing or how you got here, but you think that maybe you don’t care and it reminds you of your past.

 

Warm hands guide you to the bed and shove you down and when Theodore crawls over the top of you on all fours you forget all about James because he is your entire world.

 

Every inch of your body is alight and your head is spinning from too much alcohol and too many sensations. You haven’t felt _this_ good in a long time and if you didn’t know any better, you’d wonder if it was more than just the whiskey at work here. When Theodore leans over you his edges are blurry and his mouth is red and when you pull him down to kiss you he tastes bittersweet.

 

It would have been easy for Theodore to sit back and let James have all the fun, and even easier to let him take the blame for possibly taking your life. But Theodore’s love for you is distorted and dangerous and he toys with the thread of your life like a cat swatting a bug. Red juice so sweet drips out of the corner of his mouth as he kisses you, transferring the strawberry in his mouth to yours with his tongue. You kiss with a strawberry lodged in your throat and it tastes so good you wonder why it’s taken him so long to do it.

 

It starts with a subtle itch in the back of your throat that is easy to ignore, it’s more of mild inconvenience really, nothing worth bothering over. Theodore pulls away and leaves the strawberry behind, and his sticky kisses leave pink smears down the center of your chest that will eventually turn into ugly welts. He is painfully hard in his leather pants and he curses inwardly for not having the forethought to take them off. His fingers shake with the sheer power he wields and he feels like a fucking god whose touch has the power to kill if he chooses it.

 

Hands curl around your shoulders and tug you close enough to the edge that your head dangles over the side, and when you look up you see nothing but red. James’ lips are pulled back into a wild grin as he opens your mouth with another strawberry, which he forces down into your throat with the tip of his cock. You think you should probably feel ashamed for the current state of debauchery you are wallowing in but that faint itch has turned into a painful scratch against the inside of your throat that cannot be ignored. James peers down at you when your throat spasms around his cock and he arches a brow and tilts his head to the side, clearly fascinated. “I think he likes it,” James says with a grin and when he glances up at Theodore, he is inclined to agree.

 

“He fucking _loves_ it,” Theodore says, perched static between your parted thighs. He’s watching the tiny welts rise on your skin with a hungry stare and he knows it is really only a matter of time before it happens.

 

This isn’t the first time you have played stupidly dangerous sex games with Theodore, but it is perhaps the most potentially fatal and that excites him beyond all measure.

 

James is throat fucking you so hard that your eyes are watering, although maybe that’s the anaphylaxis talking. Your fingers curl around his thighs and bring him closer while you still have control and you groan and gag when he slams all in with a satisfied grunt. Theodore grins at your actions because he knows how difficult it is for you to hand over control to someone like James Potter, but he thinks it’s good for you and he watches everything from behind desperate eyes because he is determined to etch the memory permanently on his soul.

 

The first spasm is really more like a tremor and Theodore’s breath catches in his throat. He thinks you are beautiful like this and although you tell one another everything, he has never told you how he dreams of your death and what a pretty corpse you would make. The creamy whites of your bulging eyes make him shudder and cyanotic lips are enough to have him palming his erection over the stiff leather of his pants.

 

Your chest constricts painfully from lack of oxygen and your head feels ready to pop, which are direct contradictions to the arousal that still manages to course through your veins. With a shaking hand you take your cock in hand and stroke in an abstract rhythm that you think matches the relentless force of Jamie’s hips. _I always knew I would die with my dick in my hand_ you think to yourself, and although your vision is nearly gone you stare up at the ceiling that you cannot see and you come in your hand because you think that even dying slowly feels like heaven.

 

James says something that you do not hear to Theodore, who is too busy staring wide-eyed at you to notice. “He’s dying you stupid fuck, give him the shot!” James is shouting at Theodore, not because he is actually concerned whether you live or die, but because he hasn’t come yet and he isn’t about to be cheated out on account of your untimely demise.

 

After the spasms stop and you really _do_ look like you are dead, Theodore jumps off the bed and dashes across the room to the dresser, quickly snatching up the epi-pen and returning to the bed in just a few quick strides. He drops down beside you and raises the epinephrine injection up over his head before slamming it down into the muscle of your thigh. “Fuck that’s so hot,” James grunts and then he pulls out of your slackened mouth and comes on your taut throat because even _he_ isn’t _that_ much of an asshole.

 

Theodore is watching you intently and looking for a sign that he didn’t fuck this all up. The first slivers of fear began to creep into the back of his mind like a parasite and he bites down on his bottom lip and curses because maybe he had been more careless with your life than he had any right to be and the thought of being alone terrifies him.  

 

The rush of pain that greets you when you sputter and cough and spew bits of strawberries out of your mouth sends stars streaking across your vision. You feel like you’ve been throat fucked with the business end of The Hand of Glory and your chest feels like it’s got a stack of bricks sitting on it. Theodore’s breath comes out of him in a quick burst of release and he covers your body with his own and kisses you all over. “Am I dead?” You rasp out, lifting your head just enough to peer down at him.

 

“Not even close,” He replies and when he kisses your swollen and blue lips he shudders still, despite the serious of the moment.

 

James is already stuffing his dick back into his pants when he rolls his eyes. “You are couple of twisted fucks.” He says as he saunters over to the edge of the bed, and then he is gone, undoubtedly to go torture his god brother with tales of shagging his second cousin and his husband.

 

When they are alone Theodore curls himself around you and hold you tightly like an anchor. He listens to the raspy rise and fall inside your chest and he wonders why he is the way he is. He cannot imagine a life without you in it, and yet he had no problem gambling all the same. He wonders what it truly means to grow up and he can’t help but think that despite his very best efforts, maybe life had caught up to him after all.

 

Later, he will light a cigarette that he will share with you and his mind will still be thinking about cyanosis. “I hoped you enjoyed yourself, you little deviant.” You say as you lean over and pluck the cigarette from his grasp, and when he smirks, you will know. “You’d make a pretty corpse.” Theo adds after a moment of contemplation and then he smiles because he knows that you will understand his morbidity for what it really is.

 

“Payback,” is all Draco murmured as he leaned over and kissed the top of Theodore’s head.

 

And after that, the rest was silence.


End file.
